TW Drugs, childhood neglect
The summer air was stale inside the rented room. The fan did help. It was home for the season. Mom was at in-patient care. A consequence of that was that dad was “in charge” of me. I had a lot of freedom that summer. Looking back now, I realize how much danger I was in at the time.
There was a time dad ran out of weed and had to go to the city. His usual hook-up, my mom’s cousin, was MIA. So he had to drag me with him. I was oblivious to a lot of things at the time. I was seven. I was excited to get on the train and see all the people. What I didn’t like was getting up so early. I don’t remember how early it was. I remember how much I protested. Dad hit the back of my head while I was still in bed, and I shortly got up.
He only brought me all this way to leave me in the Times Square McDonald’s. The era was before Disney cleaned everything up. He left me there for seven hours.
I remember getting woken by the abrupt buzzing from the clock radio. It was 1991 and we still had clock rad ios. The sheets were the stiff tan and brown palm tree patterned ones from the house that were scratchy. I don’t know why dad picked these to bring. I didn't know what was happening with our house or our dogs. Maybe I did get told and don’t remember. My memory loss might be explained by immense anxiety during this time. Or perhaps my brain trying to protect itself. I didn’t get up right away. I don’t remember any gentle nudges. I do recall a smack at the base of my neck. That got me up.
I knew we had to take the train early that day. I didn’t know what for, but dad had told me previously. It was odd because dad rarely made plans ahead of time.
The train was always exciting. Even though the strange NY State emblem printed paper that decorated the cars was peeling and the seats were being held together with duct tape, to me it was exciting because it was the city. I got to see people going to work or coming home from benders, but in my child’s mind, they were all travelers. We were near a man who dressed like he was without a home, and on his back was a brand-new backpack in bright primary colors. I remember thinking how nice it was that he got something new.
What I cannot recall are the memories of how we got to Times Square. In any case, I walked into McDonald’s with $5 and was told to stay put until dad returned to get me. Without hesitation, dad turned and left me there.
I ordered a dollar menu cheeseburger and sat in the red and yellow booth. It was nearest to the back where the door was located. This way I could see dad right away when he came back. No one asked me where my parents were. It didn’t occur to me that they would. That summer I had been keeping my own agency and becoming more confident in my newfound independence. With dad leaving me to my own devices more meant I had more time for music and comic books. Some days were different though. Once he left me at a 24-hour laundromat for I don’t know how long. I just remember watching the sun come up in the car ride and the sun goes down in the big window at the laundromat.
Today was going to be one of those days that was different. My dad’s activities were still a mystery to me. It didn’t connect in my mind that dad has a problem and he “forgets me on purpose by accident”. In my child’s mind, this is the saying I made up for him. I was the excuse I created for him that made the most sense to me. I know he means to come back for me, but I don’t think he has a sense of time or maybe I don’t. I learned patience and how to talk to adults well at this time.
A side effect of my neglect was food hoarding, binging, purging, and food restriction. I nursed my burger for a long time. As I said before, I was seven and didn’t have a watch yet. I counted to twenty stretching out each bite of the burger. When dad didn’t return after the second burger, I settled in for a long wait like all those other times.
This area was still sketchy. I knew better than to wander. I stayed put and camped out. I Determined that staring at the doormat would will my dad to come through the entrance. Instead, a lively group came pouring into the restaurant. A party of four or five came through dressed like what I thought were Jem and the Holograms, one of my favorite shows. Gold lame jackets on two of them while the other wore a fringe patent leather jacket. I can’t remember what the others were wearing but I recall short-shorn hair on one side and rainbows on the other.
Looking back, I realize these were trans people coming in after a long night of clubbing. I couldn’t stop watching them. I was intrigued. Like Jem, I aspired to one day have pink hair (I did). I aspired to stay out all night doing whatever it is that people with pink hair do at night. They got their food and milled around the fountain drink area before finding a booth near me.
At first, they were too busy with their conversation to notice me. The fringe jacket did, and huddled into the table to talk to the others. I didn’t expect their whole party to come toward me. I was scared! I shrank into the corner of my booth not knowing what to do.
They easily settled in next to me. The fringe jacket person said to me in a gently raspy voice if I needed anything. I was so overwhelmed I just had tears streaming down my cheeks. I was confused. I was feeling something like relief that someone acknowledged my existence. I also felt exposed like I was going to be in trouble.
These kind people stayed with me for a long while. They bought me a milkshake and some other things to pass the time. They asked me casual questions like what my favorite Saturday morning cartoon was. That transformed into a whole conversation about who is the best ninja turtle.
My dad came bursting in. I didn’t get up right away. His face was twisted up at me once he realized it was me sitting with a group of adults. Fringe jacket got up and addressed my dad,
“You know you should know better! We could have stole her, are you even her dad you’re not even the same nationality!”
While this happening, I slipped out of the booth from below everyone’s feet. I popped up beside my dad. He looked down at me and wrenched my upper arm, forcefully half-dragging me away while the group was shouting at my dad. All the time, I was waving. I said,
“Bye friends!”
loud. I got a good laugh from the onlookers. I was always good at comic relief.
I don’t remember the rest of that day, again the trauma, the memory loss… But I look back at this memory and realize that trans people truly saved me from potential abduction while my dad was out getting drugs. These people spent time with me and didn’t ask me hard questions. They had a wait-and-see strategy that I’m not sure was helpful. I think it could have been one of many opportunities where adults in my life had the chance to get me away from my dad. Despite this thought, I cherish their kindness. I’m still on the hunt for that perfect fringe jacket for myself.
